Ballpark Frank Radio (60 sec) – Questions God

 

Staring down at a Ballpark Frank, Norm questions god.

Lord, how do Ballpark Franks plump so much when you cook them?

No answer. Norm’s head fills with doubt.

Maybe there is no all-knowing, almighty supreme being. We’re alone. No great purpose. We’re but a blip in time. Our solar system is nothing more than electrons within an atom on a piece of dirt about to be washed off the wart of a toad of inconceivable proportions.

Norm takes a bite of the juicy dog before him.

There is a god.

Ballpark Franks. They’re heavy dogs.

Ballpark Frank Radio (60 sec) – Doubts God

 

Norm stares at a Ballpark Frank in the dirt, and doubts god.

Why would a being of eternal compassion allow the most plump of dogs to lie in the muck?

Unless… Norm sheds his clothing and falls lifelessly to the ground.

“My entire existence is meaningless,” he shouts to the heavens.

Wrapped in the fetal position. Exposed. Covered in dirt. Norm rolls toward the hotdog that forsook him.

The damage is not as bad down here. Norm blows a curious ant from the frank. He takes a bite.

Forgive me oh lord.

Ballpark Franks. They’re heavy dogs.

Ballpark Frank Radio (60 sec) – Meets God

 

Staring down at a half-eaten Ballpark Frank, Norm makes peace with god.

Lord, I’m sorry for having doubted you.

With a flash of light and a thunderous roar, Norm finds himself standing upon a colossal wiener opposite the almighty.

“Son,” bellows the Lord, “Will you prove my existence to man by sharing the plumping miracle of the Ballpark Frank?”

“Yes, my Lord,” replies Norm.

A river of yellow crashes forward, slinging Norm back home.

Dripping in mustard, Norm rubs his elbow onto his hotdog. He takes a bite.

Praise be the lord.

Ballpark Franks. They’re heavy dogs.